


Hunter, Hunter

by satanssideshow



Category: Hollywood U: Rising Star, Red Carpet Diaries (Visual Novel)
Genre: Age Difference, DDLG, Daddy Issues, F/F, F/M, Smut, Too hot for teacher, bless those who make hot smut with gender neutral pronouns, cradle robber, fake relationships, heavy ddlg kink, reader has a mom, reader is female, reader’s hair is long enough to cover part of neck fyi, self made sucess, there’s some F/F action!, well not really but still a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanssideshow/pseuds/satanssideshow
Summary: You’re 21, from Iowa, and moved to LA to Hollywood U because of a scholarship. You’re self made, since you produced and starred in a small indie film, and Midwest critics liked you enough to give you a free ride. Bianca’s already a bitch, but your roommate Addison is a sweetheart and your new friend Ethan is awesome. You even meet Chris Winters, young, popular, and 26, and very interested in you. You just wanna make movies. You just wanna keep a good profile. So you need to leave your professor alone. You need to stop fantasizing that he’s anything more than that. But you‘re not going to stop, are you?Different and more smutty take on the diamond dates you have with Hunt
Relationships: Chris Winters/Reader, Thomas Hunt/Main Character, Thomas Hunt/Reader, Thomas Hunt/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Hunter, Hunter

(Enjoy some slight dry humping)

Chapter One. On the Hunt 

“He probably has crazy high standards.” You lick your lips, staring at your Professor. He’s at the podium, giving his lecture on rom com films. “Do you think he has a type?” You whisper to your roommate and close friend, Addison Sinclair. 

She scoffs softly. “Yeah, if perfect was a type. Like, someone with a model hot body, a mind as sharp as a stiletto, and a Hollywood career that’s skyrocketing.” She rolls her eyes. She thinks it’s impossible to please him. You think she’s right. After all, you’re mainly a director. You’ve wanted to be behind the camera, but due to lack of funds and, frankly, talent, you were stuck with starring in your first film. Perhaps though, your plain, atypical Hollywood stature won you the hearts of critics. The thing is, you’re cute. Always have been. Finally 21, you can still pass for a teenage girl, no matter how much makeup you splatter onto your adorable face. In a land full of sexy, hot, attractive people, you’re still just a mere little girl trying to make it big. You tilt your head and stare at your teacher, who is the exact opposite of you because of gender and age and talent and-

You take a deep breath. “So... someone like me?” 

***

You never liked boys your age, and Mother always told you it’s because men don’t mature until they’re older. You never cared though, you were always busy focusing on your work. You wanted to make it big in Hollywood. You want to make Mother proud. “Any plans tonight?” She asks on the phone, on speaker as you get ready for the ball in an hour. 

You hum in thought, before picking out the Bermuda water colored dress that matches with your mask. “Going to a party.” You reply, and strip off the bra you’re wearing to trade for a strapless one. You debate on taking off your underwear as well. 

“That’s fun,” Mother says. “Are you going to be careful?”

You chuckle. “Always, Ma.” You decide on keeping your panties. After all, it’s your first date. 

“How are you and that boy doing, dear?” Mother asks as you pick shoes. You don’t have many choices. The money you made from your film went back to loans you took out to make it, and a nice new car to replace your mother’s old lemon vehicle. 

You gulp. Surely she can’t be talking about your professor. “You mean Chris Winters?”

“Yes, that one!” She sounds happy, cheerful thinking about her daughter dating the most popular man in all of the states. “Heard anything from him?” 

You blink at yourself in the mirror. Why are you chasing after someone who hates you? Is it all for the thrill? You’re nothing but just normal, painfully so. He has so many other candidates, other girls and even men who throw themselves at Hunt. He has his pick of the litter, why would he choose you? You decide on some simple black heels to go with your simple style. You think about life with the sweet, handsome, down to Earth Chris. “I haven’t heard from him since we filmed Lisa’s video at his beach house.” You finally respond, now working to fix your hair. 

You can hear your mother frown from the other line. “You’re still young, darling.” She says. “You’ll find someone better, somewhere else.” 

You put on some makeup, lightly of course, so that you don’t look like a child playing with her parent’s eyeshadow pallet. “Maybe, Ma.”

***

Your heart thumps as you find Thomas Hunt sulking in the corner of the bar. Of course he’d be there. He thinks because he’s donated a lot of money, he can act like a spoiled sport at this fancy gala. But then again, you think if you attended countless of these, you’d probably be bored too. You strike up a conversation. “You look like you can use some company.”

“Depends on whose company it is.” He replies, scorned and annoyed oh so Hunt. 

You try not to smirk. “You’re in luck. It’s mine.”

He keeps a straight face on the whole time you chat. “We’re all wearing masks,” you tilt your head in wonder. “How do you know who any of us are?”

Again, a neutral face as he explains. “Years spent analyzing the nuances of physicality and behavior.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. You’ve made peace with what you’re attracted to. the talk of “back in my day” and “when I was your age” and so on. The experience, the years he has on him compared to you, is satisfyingly common and yet taboo. You can’t help but grin at him. “Do you know who I am?”

“I’ve been wondering that the moment you’ve arrived. Something about you is familiar, almost loathsome, yet at the same time, forgive me, attractive.” He admits with curiosity and a well mannered smirk. 

It must be the bejewelled mask, it must be the glamorous dress, it must be the poor lightning in here. You almost don’t believe those words, but then you recall everything else Hunt has said to you beforehand. He really doesn’t recognize you. How long will you play this game for?

“You’re not going to tell me who you are, are you?” He ponders, eyes narrowing in thought underneath the mask. 

You give him a toothy grin. “Maybe.” 

You coax him to join you for a dance with slow music in the background. The floor is crowded, but you find a spot in the middle. Your heart is thumping out of your chest. You don’t know how to slow dance, you just know how to talk your way into trouble. Your mouth goes dry as you place one hand on his sturdy shoulder and the other in his offered hand. You tense up. This is the first time you’ve touched your teacher, and how perfect your palm fits in his. “Nervous?” He asks, and you can tell his brows are furrowed. 

He jolts you out of your trance. “Huh?”

“If you’re nervous,” he doesn’t smile nor simper. “This dance will be over before you know it.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. “I’m not nervous.”

“Then prove it.”

“Fine...” you retort, the hand on his shoulder shooting down blindly to grab at his butt. You knead at the soft plump flesh through the fabric. You squeeze his other hand in return, and he tenses madly while clearing his throat. 

“Please keep your hands above my waist, Miss.” he tells you, and it doesn’t bring you any shame at all. As much as you want to, you don’t even blush as your hand trails backup to his shoulder. Hunt leads you with the correct steps, back and forth as your twirl around the other couples. “Hmm, you’re not completely horrible with this.” He mentions, and you can’t help but think if he would say the same when judging your felatio skills. “In fact,” he gives you the benefit of the slightest grin. “It seems that your talents have attracted the attention of the entire ballroom.”

You look around and see all eyes on you. You’d be a beet faced girl if it weren’t for the attention you had on your first film, and the fact that you feel more confident hiding behind a mask. “It’s all in the leading,” you chirp, as if you need to give this man any more props for his ego. 

He tightens his grip on your waist. “Normally I’d agree, but in this case,” he says, bringing your body closer to his. Now you’re too close. Now you feel the heat on your cheeks. “You’re the mesmerizing one.” 

Oh, your face burns with delight. How long has it been? A few months of working under him, of hearing insult after insult. As much as his harsh words leave you wanting more, his honesty leaves a hole in your heart. As much as the truth hurts, you wished, you hoped that he had something pleasant to say to you. And this is it. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you admit, in your cheery voice. In your unique, childish voice.

“What?”

Why did you say that? Why did you have to ruin a moment so precious and timeless? Because you’re still young. As self made as you are, you’re still young and pure and stupid. “Er,” you stutter, and the music begins to rapidly pick up pace. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said tonight!” Phew. What a save. 

He twirls you once, then again, then again faster and faster. “Keep up with my pace, or you’ll fall behind.” Even when talking to an equal like you, he still sounds so authoritative like his normal professor self. 

Tonight, though, you feel like you can do anything. With a sudden move, Hunt spins you away from him. You gasp as you twirl away, but he stretches out his hand, expecting you take it. You could just spin away forever, be that mysterious girl who appeared in his life, just to tease him, just to make him have something odd to remember at a party. The audience waits. What are you going to do? 

You reach back and take his hand, and he twirls you close to him. The crowd around you two cheer you on. “Not bad,” he grins, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “You learn quickly. I wish you were one of my students.” 

Your heart beats out of your chest. You’re not used to dancing. You’re not used to being this sneaky. You’re not used to being around someone you admire for so long, so you try to play it cool. “So... you’re a teacher?”

He looks embarrassed and shocked that you’ve caught on. “I-I suppose I can’t back out of that one.” He clears his throat, holding you close as the song plays to a slow beat. 

“Any interesting students?” You ask, unsure if you would like the answer. You’d be heartbroken if he says Addison, and angry if he says Bianca. And most of all, you’d be depressed if he says that he legitimately hates you. This was a bad idea. 

But Hunt answers quickly. “Most of my students are mediocre at best, but there’s one...” he trails off, his eyes shifting from you to the side. He mentions your name, and your heart flutters. “From day one, she was the most insubordinate, disrespectful, infuriating-“

“Wait,” you interrupt him. Normally you wouldn’t care for a critic. Normally you’d roll your eyes or say something in retort or walk away, but this isn’t any old critic. This is your professor. This is someone you respect. “Surely this girl must have some redeeming qualities, right?” You give the slightest frown. “Surely this girl must have passion, no?” You try to sound like you’re not pleading with him. Why are you even doing this? To be nosey? To have one more person like you? 

Hunt gives a tiny shrug. “I suppose she is passionate... I’ve never seen someone care about school so much since, well, me.” He trails off again, absentmindedly continuing his slow dancing with you. “And I admit, passion is important in this town. Without it,” he squeezes your hand. “You can burn out just like that.” His eyes finally trail back to your face, inching a bit closer. “But I digress. She’s just a student, and I'd rather much focus on you at the moment.” 

“No agreement there!” You reply ever so giddy, smiling at the compliment for his student. The music plays to something more upbeat, and you follow Hunt’s lead for the group dance. You get paired up with a tall man, but not as tall as Hunt, while he gets paired up with a red haired woman. You rotate partners and have fun until you lose sight of Professor Hunt. You contemplate on just leaving until the crowd dies down but you see him near the bar again, sulking. Before you run to him, you grab a drink from a waiter and down it for some liquid courage. You’re already in this far. You’ve already, dare you say it, fallen in love with your little innocent crush. You tap Hunt on the shoulder. “Oh! There you are,” he greets you. “I was looking for you.” 

You look up at him and smile. “But I found you first. It was easy enough to,” you tilt your head. “What did you say earlier? Analyze the nuances of your physicality and behavior.” You give a proud beam. “I simply trusted my instincts.”

He mimics the same look, “very impressive.” And it makes your cheeks more red. You never knew you needed to hear those words. You never knew how dire it was to hear the approval of your idol and professor. He takes your hand, and leads you upstairs to the private balcony. You’re tipsy as he holds your hand firmly but gently and you watch him excitedly go up the steps and into the small space. It’s cute. Just like you. You stand before him, your heart about to jump out of your throat. You can’t believe you’re here, with Hunt, with someone you find so attractive, with someone who thinks the same but with you. With someone older but handsome, with more experience, with more-

“Can I kiss you?” He asks so politely, reaching up to cup your cheek. He strokes the space underneath the mask with his thumb, and for a moment, you think you are too young for him. You're frozen in place and you have a dumbfounded look on your face, and yet, you muster the energy to nod your head once. Once, is all he needs. He kisses you with soft lips, and it’s electrifying, tender, everything you ever dreamed it would be. You open your mouth to release a moan, to release an even deeper one when he slips his tongue inside. You practically faint in his arms as he caresses you, holds you in the balcony with the pretty purple and orange sunset in the background. You feel your breath taken away, and for a moment you swear this isn’t real. Hunt smells so good, of a musky cologne instead of the Axe and Old Spice spray you’re used to smelling in the halls. You feel dizzy because of the dream you may be having, and the fact that you’re leaking in your underwear. Again, you’re thankful you’ve opted to wear them. 

Hunt finally parts from you, panting calmly, though to him he feels like a rabid animal. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his eyes glowing for the first time. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve-“ he cups your cheek, and you seem just as dazed as him. “I’ve never felt a connection to a stranger before.” His thumb is close to your mask, and you jolt away in the slightest. 

You blink up at him, trying to be sultry but you look rather innocent. “Yeah?” You bite your lip a little, and he smirks, holding your waist and pulling you closer again. This time when you two kiss, fireworks spurt out to the side of you, creating more of a surreal fairy tale of your fantasy. You believe him when he says he’s new to this. His movements are feverish as he holds you, as he traces kisses down your jawline and bends down to nip at your neck. You gasp deliciously, your hips bucking into his. He groans in response, groping your butt as you did to him earlier in the evening. Except your hands are smaller and his- his hands fondle you perfectly. “Mm, T-Thomas,” you moan, and he sucks on your skin, making it red, marking it purple. He’s going to mark you, in case you run away. In case tomorrow, he’ll see you walking down the street, or in an outdoor cafe, with sloppy makeup trying to cover his doing. He’s marking you, so he can find you. 

Hunt lets you push him up against the wall. You’re all over him, practically humping him as he continues to nip the soft skin of your neck. He reaches down from your ass to cup your cunt, feeling the wet fabric of your panties. You’re embarrassed and you turn away, pushing him back, but he only holds you close. “Do you,” he mutters, and you can see the blush on his cheeks. “Do you like me that much?” He chuckles, and again, you try to push him away. But you do it so weakly. You do it in a sense that, even his slight grasp still holds you back against him. He scratches your clothed clit, making you bury your face into his shoulder. You mewl in his shirt as he skillfully rubs your pearl, and you leak shamefully amongst his palm. You want nothing more than to have him stuff his fingers inside of you. You grind your hips violently, pushing him back further against the wall, and he takes off the hand on your ass just to wrap it around your waist again. In a matter of seconds, you’re humping his crotch, feeling the bulge underneath his pants. You lean up and kiss him, making out with him as he coaxes your waist forcefully onto himself. Like Hunt, you too have never done anything like this before. Reality flashes through your body right when your climax is about to near. You’re a deviant girl, but you’re not a liar. You’re outright scamming your teacher. If you were in his shoes, would you want someone like you doing this?

You seriously push him away this time, blushing as you try to leave. “W-wait,” he squeezes your arm in warning but not tight enough that it hurts. “I must know who you are.” He pleads with you, and you want to tell him. But you don’t want to ruin this moment. You don’t want to ruin his image of you. You do, however, want to take off your mask. With one hand, he does it to himself. He expects you to be surprised, but you’re not. You know him. You expected the handsome chiseled face of his to be there. You give him a small smile, and ever so quickly, give him a peck on the cheek. You run away, get lost in the crowd, and you don’t turn back to see if he’s searching for you. 

Addison is in her pajamas by the time you come home. She’s wearing a face mask to moisturize her pores, and she bounces on her feet, eagerly waiting for the news. By the tears on your face, she frowns along with you. “I’m sorry, love,” she consoles you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You don’t have the heart to tell her how attractive your professor found you. You don’t have the heart to tell her the sweet compliments he gave you, the transfixed dancing he led you in. You feel like you betrayed your teacher. As much of an asshole as he is, to know the truth of what he really thinks about you, it’s mind opening and heart warming and you wonder why he’s always so strict with you. She’s quiet as you sniffle, until she sees the splotch on your neck. “Hey,” she gets your attention, curiouser than any kitten. “What happened?”


End file.
